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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900521">Ashes and Blood Staining The Ground</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_halcyon/pseuds/midnight_halcyon'>midnight_halcyon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Descriptions of Blood, Gen, I really do not know how to tag, and death, and fire, kinda sad, oh well</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:15:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_halcyon/pseuds/midnight_halcyon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a morbid sort of beauty in death, a beauty of harsh lines and dripping red, of frigid silence and stone-cut stillness. The harsh glint of fire reflecting on a polished blade of silver as you stand alone amidst the carnage. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ashes and Blood Staining The Ground</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I would like to thank <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdnprplflwrs/pseuds/hdnprplflwrs">hdnprplflwrs</a> for being my beta, they were very helpful! :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There’s a morbid sort of beauty in death, a beauty of harsh lines and dripping red, of frigid silence and stone-cut stillness. The harsh glint of fire reflecting on a polished blade of silver as you stand alone amidst the carnage. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The echoes of blades clashing and people screaming ring through your ears, bouncing off of the blood splattered cliffs. You watch with a tilted head as a drop of blood runs down your finger to a puddle on the ground with a steady </span>
  <em>
    <span>plop, plop, plop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It feels oddly out of place, that sound: piercing through the heavy silence, so light and innocent. It’s a sound that does not belong in this place, where the streams run a deep red and even the sky cannot escape the creeping stain of carnage and blood and death. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The grass around you is trampled and matted with blood, and still, the clear </span>
  <em>
    <span>plop, plop, plop </span>
  </em>
  <span>rings through the air. The suffocating silence presses in and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>plop, plop, plop </span>
  </em>
  <span>rings louder and louder, reverberating through your head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And you glance up from the steady dripping of blood as the wind picks up, and it’s odd, how you can feel it. You can feel the wind whipping through your hair and pushing against the cloak stained burgundy tied around your throat. And despite this, the silence persists, broken only by the echoing of that sound, of the steady drip of blood through your head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>plop, plop, plop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ringing louder and louder as the silence around you grows heavier in weight. The heavy wind catches on the flames, spreading them across the field, and still you stand there watching that steady drip of blood, </span>
  <em>
    <span>plop, plop, plop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The flames grow to an inferno, consuming everything they come across, a sweeping line of death laying carnage to the already deceased. And the wind whips the ashes into the air, creating clouds of darkening grey against a stark red backdrop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The smell of iron tints the air that once smelled of fresh rain and dewy grass, and still the </span>
  <em>
    <span>plop, plop, plop</span>
  </em>
  <span> persists. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You would think that the blood would have stopped by now, and perhaps the fact that it has not should be a point of concern, but you can’t bring yourself to care. After all, you are still standing among this chaos, still alive against all odds. An injury is insignificant when compared to the alternative. When compared to the fate that so many others succumbed to in this place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And still, the steady </span>
  <em>
    <span>plop, plop, plop</span>
  </em>
  <span> continues. And finally, the weight in the air seems to lift, broken by a distant sound. The swooping noise of wings beating the air, growing closer and breaking the oppressive, muffling silence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing up, you see a figure drawing ever closer, to the center of this field with its ground soaked in the tang of iron and the carnage littered about. The figure draws closer, an angel of death breaking the eerie calm that had settled over the valley. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And as you glance towards the face of this figure, the sound and sensations come rushing back, building together in an overwhelming cacophony of roaring fire and the sharp scent of iron, of whipping wind and the strange sensation of blood, both dried and dripping plastered on your face and hands and cloths. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And finally you see his face, the face of another person still standing in this valley of death. And his wings, such a wonderful black, are caked with a rusted crimson, the feathers dragging on the ground. And his face is smeared with soot and his eyes reflect the flames surrounding you, glowing a bright, vibrant orange. And he offers a hand, reaches out to you, and the echoes come rushing back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A feeling of excited anticipation as you rush towards this valley, towards those who dare oppose you and your power. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The sound of hooves beating the ground and faint noise of weapons being drawn. The distinct noise of a bowstring being released and the faint screams as arrows hit their mark. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Reaching a line of people and baring your teeth in a threatening smile. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And as you let the rains fall slack, your steps ring through the air as you approach the mass of hesitant people. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They seem confused, and you feel a glimpse of pity flash through your mind, but it is quickly dismissed. After all, they have committed a grave error. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You feel a presence at your right hand, and you offer a nod before turning back to the scene ahead of you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And then there is only the rapid flashing of images, moving just too quickly to focus on. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The ring of steel clashing, the screams of people falling, the faint thump of birdies hitting the ground. The feeling of blood splattering across your face and the realisation that you are no longer accompanied by your companion. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You spare a thought to where he may have gone before turning back to the battle ahead. Your sword flashes, glinting with the light of a fire that has caught in the distance. The air grows heavy with the tang of iron and the weakening shouts echoing off distant cliffs. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And as the noise dies down and the battle draws to an end, you glance around as silence settles in and the echoes begin to ring in your head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And you glance down with a tilted head to see a drop of blood run down your finger to a puddle on the ground with a faint - </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A soft word brings you back to the present, to your companion standing before you with an offered hand and fire glinting off his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And finally, you reach your hand forward and accept the offer. The offer to leave this field where the water runs red and the sky itself is tainted with the death that occurred. The offer to return to your palace, where you can be alone, where the strange beauty of death and war and chaos is a distant presence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Where you can choose to forget how the people of this world see you, for some time at least, because after all, there will always be a challenge to the Blood God’s domain, and there will always be another war to fight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as you leave the field and return to the tundra, the wind continues to howl behind you, as the echoes of the battle continue to ring into the silence of a place now devoid of life, and left only with the ashes and blood stained ground as a warning and a reminder. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading, kudos and comments are appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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